Monday, April 8, 2013

I.
I notice the bird song first
and then the lengthening daylight
and then I notice the cherry tree outside my window,
budding and expectant.

Years like these I am tempted
to ruminate on loss.
The metaphor's overdone,
but spring does bring hope to mind,
and also how hopes have died.

I know that I should remember the good
and accept the loss.
I think of the man on the train this morning,
hunched over and rubbing his eyes
continually, compulsively, unable to stop,
for fifteen minutes.
To keep revisiting an injury
is to make an injury worse.

But it's hard to sift out the good from loss.
Sometimes, spring brings sorrow.

II.
It's my 38th spring
and my nth time observing the cherry blossoms.
Last year they came too early,
and this year, too late for the tourists,
standing 3 deep around the 5 trees
in full bloom at the Tidal Basin,
cameras pointing.

This year winter held on.
Last year winter barely came.
And the year before that?
And the year before that?

There is this to be said
for the amassing of years...
you get a feel for the rhythm of change.
Nothing's really new,
and nothing's really permanent,
and there's really very few things worth fearing...
I think.

III.
She told me to take pictures with my mind,
to imagine the beautiful and happy moments,
to capture and to hold them.

I am slowly building my collection.

Exhibit - Sunday, April 7th, 2013:
- The long, low fields of grass and yellow flowers
- The river, green and blue, rapids running over rocks
- The breeze through the budding trees, rattling last year's dead leaves
- Smiles from strangers
- The lady who gave me directions

Catch them. Hold them.
Let each picture remind me
that there is never a day without blessings,
if I'm looking for them.

Friday, April 5, 2013

But really, could God
with His reckless and extravagant imagination
(seriously, have you seen the Bird of Paradise flower?)
have envisioned, created, masterminded
my presence in this cubicle?

I believe in God's sovereignty,
so I accept this as a paradox,
because I cannot see the hand of God
in these 2 1/2 beige, synthetic-weaved fake walls.

And everyday, I submit to having
the wild waves of my own will
poured into and confined in this tiny container,

but I have my ways of escaping.

I believe that God may have had a hand
in the creation of the iPod.
And I know that He was behind the creation
of the 14th century Mass setting
that fills my ears,
and blossoms in my brain,
like the bird of paradise flower
setting me, briefly, free.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Do I think about the woman
who shoved me out of the way
to get to her train?
Or the woman who looked me
in the eye as she sat down, and smiled broadly,
with warmth, as though greeting a friend?

It is a very important choice.

Do I focus on the people cursing
as they fight each other to get
off the crowded train car?
Or the ones who quietly step
aside and let them by?

Do I direct my attention to the ones
who grab the seats?
Or the ones
who give them up?

Such choices change lives.

Anyone who wants to know God
makes a decision, to honor Him or not,
by what they choose to see in His world.

Do I believe God to be God?

If I marinate my mind
in the milk of human kindness,
I honor my God's image in His created beings.
If I stew in the vinegary juices
of man's inhumanity to man,
I make evil my idol,
and consider God impotent.

Every day I decide to see Him
or to deny Him.
I either have, or have not
seen Christ's image in others.
I either do, or do not, know the man.